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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830195">It's Always Fucking Complicated</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brite/pseuds/Brite'>Brite</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fast &amp; Furious (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Detective Dominic Toretto, FBI Agent Brian O'Conner, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:27:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,093</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brite/pseuds/Brite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian grinned, relishing the slight twitch in Dom’s eye at the sight of the blood in his teeth, it was probably the most remorse he’d get out of him. “You drive that black ’70 Charger RT? It’s not registered to you, Dom Toretto.”</p><p>The furrow between Dom’s brows deepened, his chin dipping just slightly in the affirmative. “It wouldn’t be, it’s in my father’s name.”</p><p>“Well there’s a hit out on the driver,” Brian said, raking his eyes over Dom and trying to size up what exactly the detective might have stumbled across that warranted such a hefty bounty.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brian O'Conner/Dominic Toretto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Dark Alley Acquaintances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hand over hand, Brian worked quickly down the pipe, scaling down the side of the building with hard earned grace. With the ground fast approaching and pipe running short, he let himself glide the last few feet, the treads of his boots meeting pavement with the barest of whispers. Somewhere in the back of his head he heard Suki’s promises about the endless utility of a good pole routine and Brian spared a fleeting thought to send her something exceptionally sparkly before a blunt blinding pain in the back of the head robbed him of all coherent thought, his face whipping forward and slamming against the sharp grit of brick, vision popping out like a fried bulb.</p><p>He came to while being dragged over pavement, a sweat slicked fist knotted in the collar of his jacket towing him along. Every throb of his pulse radiated up his neck and into his skull, the chill of the night sharp where his face had been cut. He hadn’t been restrained though, no lingering weight in his veins that might mean he’d been drugged, so not an ideal situation, but not the worst he reasoned.</p><p>Brian contemplated the merits of feigning unconsciousness but any chance at being convincing at it was ripped away when the hand dragging him along let go. Addled brain too slow to keep him from dropping like dead weight and meeting the ground face first, his pained, bitten off moan giving him away.</p><p>“Now’s one of those times when you need to be <em>very</em> clear about what you say, nod if you understand.”</p><p>There was a beat of silence while Brian ran his tongue across his teeth, testing to see if any were loose. The gold cap on his back molar gave a little, but the all the veneers held—thank fuck for small mercies.</p><p>Above him came a huff of impatience, the sound of feet shifting over gravel and glass before Brian felt the cold press of the shotgun barrel against the crown of his head. “He said, <em>nod</em>,” this voice was different from the first, breathless and unsteady. There were two then, Brian reasoned—he still liked those odds.</p><p>The boot that swung into his side, picking him up of the ground for a brief breathless moment was unpleasant but not unexpected. Brian rolled with the force of the hit, letting it carry him over onto his back. He blinked sluggishly against the watercolor yellow of the streetlight, the ache reverberating in the back of his skull sharpening into a vice like band around his head. A concussion probably, low grade if he was lucky, but considering he wasn’t spitting out any thousand-dollar hunks of porcelain, his luck had likely run dry.</p><p>Another moment passed while he let his eyes begrudgingly acclimate to the light in the alley, focusing finally on the two strangers looming above him. Shotgun, or at least the guy holding the shotgun, was shorter, stocky, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a John fighting to get his zipper down. Boss man, half hidden in the creeping length of shadows, stood taller, his arms crossed firmly over his chest and a flatness in his stare that was scarier than any birdshot his partner might have been packing.</p><p>It was the stillness about him, the way he held himself like he was the center of gravity and the universe just revolved at his feet, that prompted Brian to finally dip his chin down to his chest once, slow like, in the barest of nods.</p><p>Boss man’s chin tilted up slightly, considering the acknowledgement, weighing if he should demand more. Not that Brian would give it to him, gravity be damned.</p><p>“Sit up,” he said eventually, the gravel of his voice setting the hair on the back of Brian’s neck on end. Bracing his hands against pavement, he pushed up slowly until enough of his weight was upright that he trusted himself not to roll back.</p><p>“Ta-da,” Brian bared his teeth in a facsimile of a grin, a fresh rush of copper blooming in his mouth as the split in his lip reopened.</p><p>Shotgun hefted the rifle, squaring the butt end of it toward Brian’s face before Boss man waved him off. “Tell me what the hell you’re doing down here.”</p><p>Brian rolled a few lies along his tongue, trying to tease out which one tasted the most plausible.</p><p>“I was just out having a smoke, not exactly looking for company,” he lied, sparing a glance down at himself, and smirking when he felt those dark eyes follow his own, “but I can see why your dog might have mistaken me for a goodtime.” The leather of his jacket was worn in places but draped well off the sharp cut of his shoulders, his jeans practically painted on and now torn at the knee, scuffed boots laced haphazardly over his ankle. “I’d have let him down easy if he hadn’t knocked me out.”</p><p>“How many other places in the neighborhood been knocked over lately, huh?” Shotgun asked, jamming the barrel back against Brian’s temple. His foot shot out catching Brian’s arm, and pressing until Brian was forced to turn his hand palm-side up, calloused skin smeared black with tire polish. “He was casing the place, Dom.”</p><p>Boss man – or Dom, apparently— cocked an eyebrow at the marks, the muscle of his jaw ticking in poorly suppressed amusement. “Let’s try this again,” he said fishing around in his back pocket before squatting down and flipping open a scuffed leather badge holder. “Detective Dominic Toretto, LAPD—” he gave the words a second to sink in, the yellow glow of the streetlights throwing the sharp white cut of his teeth into sharp relief as a smirk worked across his lips. “Now, what the hell were you doing in <em>my</em> garage?”</p><p>Brian squinted at the badge, glancing from the postage stamp sized photo to the man holding it up, before he tipped his head back and laughed hard enough to set his shoulders shaking. “Oh man,” he gasped wetly, sucking down sharp shallow breaths, trying to ease the stitch in his side. “You fuckers are in for <em>a lot</em> of paperwork,” he said, eyes watering from the ricocheting flares of pain lighting up his head. “Special Agent Brian O’Conner, FBI.”</p><p>Shotgun snorted in disbelief, but Brian’s eyes were on Dom, watching the man’s eyes narrow, his smirk dropping away, lips pressed thin as he weighed the possibility that his partner had just beat a federal agent over the head with a shotgun. “Doesn’t explain what you were doing in my garage, buster.”</p><p>Brian grinned, relishing the slight twitch in Dom’s eye at the sight of the blood in his teeth, it was probably the most remorse he’d get out of him. “You drive that black ’70 Charger RT? It’s not registered to you, Dom Toretto.”</p><p>The furrow between Dom’s brows deepened, his chin dipping just slightly in the affirmative. “It wouldn’t be, it’s in my father’s name.”</p><p>“Well there’s a hit out on the driver,” Brian said, raking his eyes over Dom and trying to size up what exactly the detective might have stumbled across that warranted such a hefty bounty. “Half a million for your head on a platter, Toretto. A million if you’re still breathing and Carter Verone gets to gut you himself.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Of dime dealers and bloody hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>O’Conner was perched on the edge of Tanner’s desk like he owned it, dressed down in jeans, a shirt two sizes too big, and a navy nylon windbreaker with FBI stamped across the breast in neon yellow like something out of a movie. The aftermath of the alley looked worse under the fluorescents, his eyebrow  held together with a butterfly bandage, splotches of purpling reds smeared across him like a kid’s finger painting—god, Dom was so fucking fired.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brian braced his palms against the cool, crooked tile of his shower. Pipes groaned and rattled in the bowels of the wall, the first sputtering burst of water ice cold down his back, goose flesh prickling up his calves and out across his forearms. He stayed there for a long moment under the spray, testing the dull ache of his split lip with the point of his tongue until it reopened, washing out the sour taste of the codeine coated Tylenol he’d downed dry before bed with a rush of blood.</p>
<p>He spit, watching red blanch into pink as it circled the drain. Once the water had warmed to something that almost resembled tepid, Brian tilted his head back, opening his mouth and swilling out the bitter metallic tang. Goading the guy with the gun always turned out to be a shittier idea in the morning, but not once did he ever remember that when it counted.</p>
<p>Welts that had been red and swollen over his stomach and flank the night before had settled into deeper shades of violet, his aching ribs protesting all the louder when he reached up to shampoo. They were small hurts, annoyances more than anything, and Brian relished each of them. Aches and pains were part of the job and after nearly six months riding a desk, even the muted throb of a concussion was a welcome reprieve from the boredom.</p>
<p>Cutting the water once it ran cold, he wrapped a towel around his waist and padded out into the bedroom, pulling on a pair of jeans and a slightly baggy shirt out of his closet. Chucks laced up and badge draped around his neck, Brian gave the edge of his bed a firm kick, drawing a grunt of complaint out of its remaining occupant.</p>
<p>“I’ve got to be at the station in thirty, you need to go,” Brian mumbled around his toothbrush, aiming another kick at the mattress for good measure.</p>
<p>“Seriously?” The guy pushed up onto his elbows, voice thick with sleep. His broad shoulders caught the light starting to cut through the blinds, long shadows stretching down toward a tapered waist and the generous swell of an ass that gave Brian pause. He shook out his wrist, the time staring back accusingly at him from the face of his watch.</p>
<p>“Seriously Matt, I’m already late,” Brian said, spearmint flavored foam filling his mouth as he picked up the set of scrubs puddled on the floor that definitely weren’t his and flung them at the guy. He scowled back as he snatched them out of the air, the effect somewhat ruined by the dried drool on his chin.</p>
<p>“My name is Max.”</p>
<p>Brian had the good grace to wince as he walked back to the bathroom to spit, by the time he’d fully rinsed his mouth the front door had shut with a bang and his apartment was once again his.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Who the fuck is he?” Dom asked, eyes sweeping over the bullpen expectantly. Letty snorted, Leon lifting his shoulders in a defeated shrug. “We’ve been looking all morning man, but he’s a fuckin’ ghost. No academy records, no commendations or reprimands, not even a goddamn speeding ticket. Up until six months ago it’s like he never even existed.”</p>
<p>Dom shook his head, shoving Leon aside to get at his keyboard. “Guy’s FBI not a spook, there’s got to be something,” he muttered, pulling up the joint task force records and filling O’Conner, B. into the search tab, results filtering down from hundreds of thousands of cases down to a single hit. “He was on the Tran case?” Dom asked, clicking open the file and skimming the write-up on the smuggling ring gone bust.</p>
<p>“He was barely more than a warm body in a vest,” Letty answered, snapping her gum in annoyance. “His name’s only on the paperwork because he fired his weapon, popped Johnny Tran once in the back when he pulled an oozy. IA did their song and dance, but it was textbook, he was cleared back for duty within three weeks.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got a million-dollar bounty on my head and they’ve got some Buster running the case?” Dom demanded, eyes flitting over the report looking for anything that might explain the blue-eyed, black-clad menace that Vince had dragged into his life last night.</p>
<p>Vince finally piped up from where he’d been slouched low at his desk, half hidden behind the precariously piled files, arms crossed firmly over his chest and lips twisted into a surly grimace. “I’ve got Jesse looking for more, dropped him off a NOS and told him I’d check in at lunch,” he said, his caffeine bribery a small effort at making amends for the hellish amount of paperwork that was surely coming down the pipeline.</p>
<p>“We dumped a fed off at the doors of a self-pay clinic after beating him in an alley, if the chief hasn’t called us in by ten it’s a safe bet we should call the union rep about a lawyer,” Dom shot back, massaging the bridge of his nose.</p>
<p>“Toretto!”</p>
<p>Dom’s shoulders sagged and he had to resist the urge to beat his head against the desk as Tanner’s call boomed out over bullpen. Vince slumped lower in his chair, but Tanner didn’t call for him, just Dom. “You embarrass me,” Dom muttered under his breath, pushing up to his feet.</p>
<p>“Via con dios,” Letty quipped with a snap of her gum, and it was only an instinctive desire to avoid castration that Dom shot her a glare instead of flipping her the bird as he passed.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Tanner’s office was by no means spacious, after all you didn’t sitting room to give a good dressing down. A thick-set black man occupied one of only two chairs in the room, from the firm set wrinkles and weathered look in his eyes, Dom figured he was the fed handler.</p>
<p>O’Conner was perched on the edge of Tanner’s desk like he owned it, dressed down in jeans, a shirt two sizes too big, and a navy nylon windbreaker with FBI stamped across the breast in neon yellow like something out of a movie. The aftermath of the alley looked worse under the fluorescents, his eyebrow  held together with a butterfly bandage, splotches of purpling reds smeared across him like a kid’s finger painting—god, Dom was so fucking fired.</p>
<p>“Fancy seeing you here,” O’Conner said, tipping his coffee cup at Dom in a jaunty salute that made Dom second guess if wringing the guy’s neck again might be worth a pink slip.</p>
<p>“I’d introduce you, but from what I’ve managed to gather, you two have been<em> intimately</em> acquainted,” Tanner cut in, saving Dom the work of trying to think up a polite response. “Toretto, Bilkins – Bilkins, Toretto,” Tanner added, gesturing to the black man who rose and offered Dom a hand. He took it, the shake unnecessarily firm but he refused to flinch away from the pressure.</p>
<p>“For as much as he likely deserved it, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make a habit of trying to incapacitate my agents,” Bilkins said mildly, returning to his seat.</p>
<p>“I’d appreciate if your agents didn’t go snooping around private property without a warrant,” Dom said, feeling Tanner’s eyes zero in on him, a not so subtle warning.</p>
<p>“It isn’t you we’re necessarily interested in, Officer Toretto,” Bilkins drew a file from the battered leather briefcase beside him, setting it down on the corner of Tanner’s desk that O’Conner wasn’t occupying. Dom flipped it open, a mugshot of the asshole coke dealer he’d picked up in plain clothes at a race the month before staring up at him. The guy wasn’t much to look at with thinning dark hair, tobacco yellowed teeth, and a tacky Hawaiian shirt undone one to many buttons to reveal a gaudy gold cross the size of Dom’s palm. From what Dom remembered he’d been a little too into his own product, strung out and handsy enough that he’d felt compelled to step in and cuff him before one of the girls ran him down in retaliation.</p>
<p>“A dime dealer put a million-dollar bounty out on my head?” Dom asked, brow furrowed skeptically.</p>
<p>Bilkins heaved a put-upon sigh that grated Dom’s last fraying nerve, the heat of Tanner leaning over his shoulder to read the file all that kept him from snapping at the fed about where he could shove his exasperation. “That dime dealer is Roberto Sanchez, Carter Verone’s sticky fingered second. He put out the bounty, he’s not thrilled about having to look for new henchmen.”</p>
<p>“Shitty help is apparently hard to find these days,” O’Conner said, taking an idle sip from his coffee. His blue eyes lifted to meet Dom’s, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a crooked grin. “Though you seem to manage it, maybe you can give Carter some pointers.”</p>
<p>Heat worked its way up Dom’s chest and the smile he flashed at the fed was more bared teeth than anything friendly. “What’s the worst that he can do if he keeps a genius like Roberto as his second?” A shadow fell across Brian’s face, his smile melting into a grimace.</p>
<p>“Last agent he put in his crosshairs came back in pieces,” Bilkins answered, and Dom didn’t miss the way O’Conner flinched, it was subtle, a flex of muscle and a tic of his jaw, but a flinch all the same.</p>
<p>“A guy that big and bad, why haven’t we had him on our radar?” Dom asked, turning to look at Tanner who had the decency to look a little guilty.</p>
<p>“Verone’s a tier one cartel head with connections in Venezuela and Columbia, but a majority of his ties are to Cuba. He’s ruled the Miami drug circuit with an iron fist for years, but a little over a year ago, after a botched take-down, he went to ground. The thinking was he’d fled to Cuba, at least until he surfaced here, three weeks ago.” Bilkins explained, pulling out a much thinner file and setting it on top of the first. A lone after-action report was inside, more than half of it redacted with streaks of black permanent marker, a grainy surveillance video still paperclipped to the corner. “Facial recognition popped Verone when he landed at LAX, we scrubbed back and found Roberto and Enrique showed up three weeks earlier. Until you put Roberto in cuffs, we weren’t aware any of them were on U.S. soil, let alone in Los Angeles. Wherever they’re holed up, they’re holed up good.”</p>
<p>“And they’ve got a hit out on me,” Dom summed up, unease suddenly leaden and heavy in his stomach. Mia’s face flashed in his mind’s eye, then his father’s, Letty’s, Leon’s, Vince’s, and Jesse—all of them, cut down to bloody butchered pieces.</p>
<p>O’Conner chucked his empty coffee cup into the waste bin, the sound echoing hollowly in the sudden quiet of the room, and pulling Dom up from the dark depths of his fears. “He doesn’t really know it’s you, he doesn’t have a name, just the make and model of your car,” he reasoned with a sense of levity that had Dom knocking aside the files and grabbing for the lapels of his fake ass looking windbreaker before he could really think to not to.</p>
<p>“You think this is funny, this some sort of joke to you? I’ve got people,” Dom roared, blue eyes meeting his own with a vague sort of surprise in their depths. Then Tanner’s hands were on him, reeling him back and Bilkins was on his feet, a hand square on O’Conner’s chest, pushing him back into the far corner of the office where Dom would have to vault the chair and Bilkins himself to get to him.</p>
<p>“We’re aware of the delicacy of the situation,” Bilkins said, the most serious Dom had seen him since this whole clusterfuck had begun. “We’ve assembled a team that’s working on Verone’s apprehension, as well as monitoring the safety of your family.”</p>
<p>“I want on it— Letty, Leon, and Vince too,” Dom said immediately, his chest heaving around the surge of anger that had seared through him.</p>
<p>Bilkins was shaking his head before Dom even finished. “It’s a conflict of interest Toretto, for you and your…friends,” he worked the word around his mouth like he wasn’t sure it was the right one to use.</p>
<p>“I don’t got friends, I’ve got family,” Dom shot back.</p>
<p>“All the more reason they can’t be involved, furthermore, Chief Tanner and I talked it over and we feel it’s in your best interest to lay low,” Bilkins said, his eyes flitting meaningfully over Dom’s shoulder to where Tanner was still holding fast to his bicep. “Until Verone is apprehended or until he returns to Miami, you are off active duty.”</p>
<p>Dom’s stomach bottomed out and he yanked his arm away from Tanner, turning to look at his Chief, the betrayal he felt written across his face. “You agreed to this?” Dom asked, entirely blindsided.</p>
<p>Tanner cleared his throat, sharing a glance with Bilkins, the fed moving to clear out and taking O’Conner with him. For the split second the door was open Dom saw his team, still clustered around his desk, making no effort to disguise the way they were staring at the office. Vince stood, half-cocked, like he was ready to charge over and take whatever sort of heat was coming down and Dom felt his heart clench painfully at his brother’s bullheaded loyalty before the door snicked shut again and stole him from sight.</p>
<p>“Dominic—” Tanner started, but Dom rounded on him, fire in his veins.</p>
<p>“You don’t get to call me that right now,” he hissed, acid dripping from every word. “How the fuck can you expect me to just ride a desk until the dust settles? The Charger is registered to my dad, my sister sleeps fifty feet from where it’s parked!”</p>
<p>“You think I don’t know that? You think that wasn’t my first thought when I heard all this?” Tanner demanded, meeting Dom’s anger with a ferocity that was all his own. The roiling force beneath it made Dom wonder at the pair Tanner and his father had been, facing the brutality of L.A. patrol work in the eighties.</p>
<p>“Your father is the reason I agreed to bench you,” Tanner sighed, his shoulders slumping in an uncharacteristic moment of weakness. “Dominic, I owe your father more than I’ll ever be able to repay,” he said, voice softer, than Dom had ever heard it while the other man was in uniform. “What kind of friend would I be to let his only son walk the streets with a target on his back? How could I ever look him in the eye again if <em>anything</em> happened to you?”</p>
<p>“So you’d rather trust us, my whole family, to complete strangers,” Dom said bitterly, heading for the door. “Just trying to keep your hands clean this time, huh? It won’t wipe away what’s already there.”</p>
<p>Tanner called him back, but Dom slammed the solid weight of the wood door behind himself. The team jolted at the noise, turning to find him as he crossed the bullpen, snatching Vince’s keys off his desk. “Whoa Dom, where’s the fire?” Leon asked, frowning, but Dom didn’t stop to answer.</p>
<p>“Where hell are you going?” Letty barked at his back, following him toward the elevator, Leon and Vince trailing uncertainly after her.</p>
<p>“To find the Buster,” Dom snapped back, shouldering open the door to the stairwell instead and taking the steps down two at a time, his own pulse roaring in his ears. He jumped into the Maxima, slamming the seat back and turning over the engine, spotting O’Conner across the lot, leaning against a dark nondescript sedan and taking a smoke.</p>
<p>Dom swung out of the spot and pulled up alongside him, rage thrumming in his veins even as he leaned an arm against the rolled down ledge of the window. “Get in,” he muttered through gritted teeth, intent on finding out just who the fuck was in charge of protecting what was his, and if the files couldn’t tell him then he’d get it direct from the Buster’s mouth.</p>
<p>He half expected O’Conner to tell him to go to hell, and after the previous night, Dom couldn’t have blamed him. Beating a guy in a dark alley didn’t typically end up in endearments, even if they’d been kind enough to dump him off at an emergency care clinic.</p>
<p>Dom didn’t know what it said about O’Conner that his mouth ticked up in that infuriating crooked grin and he made a wordless lap around the hood, leaning in low against the car’s frame with the lithe grace of a seasoned prostitute instead. His blue eyes flicked around the interior, sticking on the NOS trigger before he climbed into the passenger seat. And when Dom peeled out of the lot, hitting seventy before they even cleared the block, instead of grasping for a hand hold or clutching at his seat belt, O’Conner tilted his head back and the wind whisked away his howl of laughter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello again ~ <br/>The semester of hell is behind me and I return to give you this, whatever this is.<br/>Your patience is appreciated, as are any comments and kudos, they feed my little writer soul.<br/>Happy Holidays!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Is it really one of my fics if Brian isn't still in law enforcement in some capacity or another? </p><p>You will find angst, bad-assery, and pining a plenty in the chapters to come - tags/ratings will change accordingly. Comments and kudos keep my little fic writer soul well fed, I promise you each and every one is appreciated. Hope you're enjoying the spooky season!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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